In Ohio, one of rough appearance, clad in a fire-new, ready-made suit, began to pervade Thompson's car; restlessly rushing from one side to the other in conscientious effort to see all there was to be seen; finally taking to the vestibule as affording better conveniences for observations. He was, however, not so absorbed in the scenery but that he took sharp note of the cowboy's unsophisticated garb and guileless mien. Later, when Steve went into the smoker, he struck up acquaintance with him; initiated by the mere demand for a light, continued through community of interest, as both being evidently non-urban. A voluble and open-hearted person, the stranger, displaying much specie during their not infrequent visits to the buffet for refreshment of the jocund grape, where they vied with each other in liberality, and one who naively imparted his private history without reticence. A lumberman, who had risen from the ranks; a Non-Com. of Industry, so to speak, who, having made his pile, was now, impelled by filial piety, revisiting his old New England Home. This touching confidence so ingratiated the bluff and hearty son of toil to the unsuspicious cowboy, that he, in turn, began, to ooze information at every pore. Steve Thompson was his name; miner of Butte, Montana. He had, after years of struggle and defeat, made a lucky strike. He had bonded his mine to New York parties--the Copper-bottom, just to the left of the High Line Trail from Anaconda to Philipsburgh; receiving $10,000 down for a quarter interest, giving option on two-thirds remainder for $50,000, if, after six months' development work, the mine justified its promise. It had proved all his fancy painted it; he was on his way to the big town, to be paid the balance on the sixteenth, at the office of--where is that letter? Oh, yes, here it is--"Atwood, Strange & Atwood, 25 Broad St."--retaining a one-fourth interest. He was going to see the sights. Possibly he would take a trip round the world. Incited by judicious interest of his auditor, he prattled on and on, till the lumberman--(Dick Barton, the name of him)--was possessed with the salient points of his past, present and future; embellished by a flood of detail and personal reminiscence. It is to be regretted that the main points were inaccurate and apocryphal, the collateral details gratuitous improvisations, introduced for the sake of local color. "For," Steve reasoned, "evidently this party is a seeker after knowledge; it is better to siphon than to be pumped. Doubtless it will be as bread upon the waters."